


World's Oldest Virgin Makes His Move; Condoms and Compasses

by Celeste666



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angels, Black Keys, Bourbon - Freeform, Captain America in love, Captain America loves an Angel, Cedar Sees All, F/M, Falling Stars, Fluff and Angst, Half-angel, Howlin for you, Its not easy being Steve, Natasha Romanov coaching Steve in love, Pockets, Steve Rogers in love, Steve gets his pension, Steve seeking sex, Thin Shirts, World's Oldest Virgin, condoms and compasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 19:45:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8858383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celeste666/pseuds/Celeste666
Summary: Steve decides to declare his love.  The train decelerates and may de-rail.  Will love come in the morning?





	

World's Oldest Virgin Makes His Move: Condom's and Compasses

The Needle and the Wheel pt.1

Steve’s Sweet Afternoon  
And where had she even come from? Fallen into his life just like a star…a falling star. Stars and angels, this was Christmas. And it felt like Christmas, finally.  
When had it started? Early November, random call from some obscure branch of DOD who were willing to go with renegade superheroes when they needed some muscle. Nat had gotten the call and rounded them up, knew he was in NY already and so were the assets. Nat, no doubt - connected. He often wondered. Learning. Learning a lot.  
Now it was December. Falling stars, what had she said? The Geminids? He’d have to ask. She knew so much. What you’d expect from a college professor, he guessed. The asset. Cedar Wexler. He’d been learning so much, about so much. Since when? Pretty much since that first close encounter on the bench over steaming coffee. There was a thing called Rayleigh scattering (he’d learned since) that explained lots of things about light, but didn’t explain the green flash of her eyes that morning and what it had done to him.  
Falling stars, a meteor shower. She’d love that. Where could you go to see the Geminids? What day was that? Had they missed them? He could take her somewhere, anywhere in the world now, to see them. Things were changing, since he’d met her. Or was it him changing? Maybe she’d just opened him up to a whole new world and he’d let it all in; was learning how.  
Learning how to love someone. Now remembering Nat again. Sheesh, that walk, not of shame – walk of humiliation? Embarrassment? But she’d helped out. Told him it was time to tell Cedar; that he was obviously out of his head over her. And then she’d asked. Wincing at the memory – was he “taking care of her?” That was a helluva conversation. Buttoning his shirt, remembered starting to object. “Nat, just…” but she’d overridden and gone on. “Steve, she’s a ‘modern woman’ she…”  
He’d stopped her “Just don’t say…”  
Grinning she’d cut him off “She has needs.”  
“Geez, Nat.”  
But he did love her. That’s just what it was and now…shaking his head at the turns and turns and turnings of recent events, now he could take care of her. Visit to D.C. and the strangest meeting with the Army Pensions Office. He’d taken the compass, and taken a run, a long last goodbye to Peggy. It’d seemed like the right place and felt like the right time, running the monuments. The funeral in London, the mess of the accords, Bucky, Sharon, all the chaos; that hadn’t been a proper goodbye. Miles and miles and miles around, turnings of the earth, the passing of time. It had helped him quiet his head. Quiet his heart. Quiet night? Well, maybe not. Instant grin. Geez, embarrassing himself in the mirror.  
But it seemed everything, and everyone was conspiring for them, not against them…a different experience entirely; not battling all the time; bad guys, big guns, and universal, bureaucratic machinations that seemed to mire things in red tape, complicated agendas, and everything a means to an end. Geminids, the Army Pension office, decades of back pay. Where had that come from? Sam? Did he plant that question out there somewhere? Either way now he could take Cedar to his mountains, the ones in Germany and Italy, Bavaria, the ones that had shaped his adulthood – what there was of it.  
Having grown up where the highest thing around was the empire state, mountains had been a revelation. But she had been born there. They could visit hers too, North Carolina. If she wanted. She could show him the balds, tell him those Cherokee legends. They could stand there, a place where you could see stars, not just city lights. Maybe tonight they could go up to the roof of her building and look across the city, the lights he knew, he could make up some constellations from the lights: Cedar’s cheekbone, Eye of Cedar, The Lovers.  
Things were going his way. Tonight would be great. A colleague of Cedar’s had come through with an extra ticket for a club, or, more probably, he’d figured, had planned to go to the show with Cedar herself and most likely made up an excuse not to go so Steve could have the ticket. So he’d checked them out; The Black Keys. He’d looked up their website, listened to some of their music, looked up lyrics. “Howlin’ for You.” He hoped they’d play that.  
OK, saying good bye at the door; like a teenager on a date. Salute to the team who’d gathered to send him off. Good grief. Patted his jacket pocket. Nat shaking her head. Geez.

Cedar’s Bitter Evening

Sweet, sweet Tim and Jordie. Right away, and way too soon, her two best internet detectives were on the case. She didn’t like to think of them as “hackers” – that seemed to imply “hacks,” people who had technical skills but no spirit. What Tim and Jordie could do together in that universe, cyberspace, was too elegant to be called “hacking.”  
They’d ‘conjured’ her long ago, found what the patterns of pixels revealed – the DOD connections. They’d seen more of her files than she was happy about, more than was good for them, but they seemed to know how to cover their tracks. What she’d found on her office desk two days ago was a link, and a thumb drive, and instructions on how to use both. Compelled as always by merciless curiosity she followed the instructions and found herself connected to Steve’s secret government file; the bits and bytes, his bio and all it contained.  
It was hard not to think of it now, staring across the table at him. He’d enjoyed the evening, and so she was teasing him as usual. “I think you were almost dancing” she observed, sipping her orange juice. He glanced up at her skeptically. “We’ll get the band to play something slow” echoed in her head from that computer feed; his last transmission directly to Peggy Carter about their date, the last thing on his mind before he plowed the plane into the North Atlantic.  
“You were like, bobbing your head at one point.” She smiled.  
Now he was shaking his head, intent on his plate, used to her teasing. It wasn’t like Stark, whose teasing was taunting, or simply snarking. Barbs intended to get under his skin, stings designed to drive him off. This was something different. Teasing as an invitation, invitation to come on in, stay awhile. Play awhile. Shook his head. He thought he’d been gotten used to being aroused by just thinking about her. Nope.  
Fair enough. He probably had been bobbing his head at the show. OK. However the last most recent memory, of her legs wrapped around him, was plenty arousing, and still freshest in his mind. After the show they’d streamed out of the crowded club, a new experience for him, and hit the cold air on the sidewalk. She’d pulled him over near a wall objecting about her boots and her feet, and a bad choice to wear heels so high, should’ve known they’d be standing the whole time, leaning on him. “Well,” he’d started to scoop her up. “No, no, no, no, no!” but then she’d spun him and clambered up, piggy-back, laughing. He couldn’t help but wonder about the view everyone else was getting. The skirt was maybe a little longer than usual but… and she did have on leggings …her signature red coat was probably long enough... But all he could really focus on were the legs, reaching around and tucking his hands under her knees, warm, boosting her up. Then, in his ear “You know what I want now?” She’d whispered. Brain froze. “Breakfast!” giggle in her voice.  
Ok, was that ‘make me breakfast’ or ‘go back to my place and I’ll make us breakfast’? But then she’d declared “I know a couple places.”  
Smiling. “No, no. I know the BEST one.” Turning his head, mouth, toward her head on his shoulder. “My call. You picked the club. My call on breakfast.” Perfect.  
“Fair enough.” She laid her head against his shoulder, hugged, and squeezed with her legs. The sidewalk tilted. “As long as they have corned-beef hash.”  
“Wait.” He put her down. Dramatically whirled to face her, hands on her shoulders now, mock seriousness in his eyes. He could play too. “Are you telling me you like corned-beef hash?”  
“What? Yeah.” Bit surprised. “One of the few ‘Yankee’ culinary inventions I approve of.” Warming to his teasing. Thinking to herself. ‘Mmmmm, he’s learning fast.’ Easy girl.  
“Wow. When I tried luring you over to my place by telling you I had a grill, and you said you were kind of a red-meat girl - that was one thing.” Wrapped her hand in his, heading toward the rank of cabs. “But this…This is something else. I may be in love with you.” Just practicing.  
Followed by her chuckling.

She hadn’t known the diner, and they did have corned-beef hash. But they’d had something else as well. The counter was full, and most of the booths; a typical diner in the city that never sleeps. Two tables were being bussed and as he looked around Steve’d noticed someone.  
“Hey,” small crease between his eyes. “Uh,” frowning, deciding. He was looking at a table of three, one of whom was a lovely blonde. Oh, God help. Could this night get any weirder?  
“Com’ere” he looked at her and started to weave through the restaurant, not taking her hand but checking she was following.  
One of the men at the table stood and shook his hand, introductions. The blonde, sitting on the inside stayed seated.  
“Good to meet you.” he was saying, greeting the men in turn “Sharon.” Nodding.  
They hadn’t been there long, two coffees and a juice, menus still open. His voice like an echo. Then,  
“Cedar,” turning to her. “This is Robert, Joel, and a friend of mine from, well…” quick breath. “Sharon Carter, Cedar Wexler.” Gesturing.  
Hellos, handshakes. “Cedar, what an unusual name.” Joel smiled, sunny, must be a night owl. “Dr. Wexler” Sharon reaching. Cold hand. The tall silent Robert nodding, still gangly, not looking more than 20. Who were they recruiting these days? Made her worry for Jordie and Tim. Robert was taking his seat and Steve was confirming something with Sharon, where she was stationed these days. The undertow of deep history was becoming unbeatable. Didn’t feel like she could stay upright much longer. Suddenly stifling, too warm. Breathe. Shuffled out of her coat.  
“I’m gonna grab a table.” Smiling, waving to them, she headed toward the counter. Why not just stop now? Or just leave? Rude. And the aroma, breathe. And he was back, hand in the crook of her elbow, escorting her to a newly wiped table.

Her arm was warm, thinnest skin in the crook of her elbow, imagined he could feel her pulse beat. Wanted to, everywhere. Shook his head again. She had her heavy coat, but the shirt under was thin. He’d noticed. She’d told him how to dress for the show. Count on it being cold outside and frying inside the club. Sure enough. A great evening, another new thing. The lights and the beat of the music, the crush of people, strangers you found yourself chatting with. Intimacy and energy. And every time she’d turned to shout something into his ear, rising on her toes, hand on him for balance, her breasts soft against his chest. Soft. Two thin shirts soaking up sweat and smoke, ready to be shed. He was hoping.  
She had been dancing. No surprise. Always danced in the kitchen fixing food, but nice, familiar, and would bump up against him occasionally, or lean back into him and sway. An outfit he’d never seen, a soft black shirt, a patterned scarf, black skirt and different pattern of leggings and always the boots, nails painted and her eyes somehow even more lit than usual. He hadn’t been sure what he was going to think of the club and the concert. Turned out live music was something else entirely. The whole experience. Waiting for more.  
Breakfast over, they’d ridden the subway back to her neighborhood, laughing as they came through the turnstile where the “goon” had started to pull his gun on Steve. A good memory now. How long ago had that been? Before Thanksgiving, but it felt like it might’ve been a year. They’d seen each other almost every day since the teams’ return from the stupid mission over that weekend. What a wreck he’d been. A prickle, then and he asked. “That guy, you said his name was Prentice Cooper?” Cedar stopped and turned, out on the sidewalk now.  
“Yeah, and don’t worry about it. Not your “project,” remember.” Tilting her head. Referring back to when she had been, reminding him of how much more she was now.  
Didn’t realize he was frowning. The guy, at the club. Staring at her. Old academic enemy, she’d said. Evidently there were such things. She was staring at him…Ok that, could wait. “Sorry. Occupational hazard.” Grin.  
Dilemma  
Tough, seeing the little spring in his step, tilted forward as he walked but trying to keep his pace slow enough for her to keep up. She couldn’t. Just couldn’t. The splinter hadn’t worked itself out. Red, infected, painful; still right there with them. In his pocket. They were approaching her stoop, decision time.  
“I think we’d better call it a night” she said, avoiding his eyes and starting up the first step. Knowing she wouldn’t get far, she turned to face him in time to see the shadow of surprise, the flicker of confusion.  
“You ok? You tired?” His face suddenly creased with concern. Sheesh. Please! Yes, she was tired, it was 1:45, but that wasn’t it. “I just,” she tugged at the collar of his jacket, leather cool and supple in her hands. Closed her eyes.  
“I promise I’ll be a gentleman.” He interrupted, leaning in to speak low at her cheek and reaching for her, hand on her low back, boot planting on the step beside hers.  
“Oh,” opening them now. “I know you will. That’s the thing see...” but stopped there.  
“Well,” What did that mean? Stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers, that comfortable allusion, “Maybe don’t underestimate a gentleman?”  
“No, no. I appreciate a gentleman. I do, but see…” smiling, but not looking at him. “…I’m idling pretty high tonight.” focusing up beyond the lights. “Don’t want to get my feelings hurt.” Face back to his now, earnest.  
Wait? What? What was happening? “Cedar, did I…” he began.  
Ok, this was just going to be this hard. She interrupted. “Steve, sometimes I don’t understand you. You are a gentleman and I wouldn’t trade that but… I also want you to be yourself and; I don’t know what you want.” Eyes, too dark. No light.  
Really? “Well, ok.” Looking at the treads on the step, back up at her. Those eyes, troubled, like dark water. “Cedar, if you feel like it, I’d like to come up.” Now lacing his fingers into her hair.  
The words were there, that intimate gesture she loved. It was all there, but so was that slight weight in his pocket, like a talisman, warding her off. Not working. He wasn’t getting it. Change tactics.  
“So here’s the thing” Interlacing her fingers behind his neck and leaning her hips into his, she drew his face closer to hers. Whispered.  
“Tonight, if I let you in,” gesturing with her head to the building behind her, “I’m going to want to let you in…” Garnet nails digging into soft leather. Couldn’t be any clearer than that. His eyes dipped and hands moved to her waist, reaching inside her unbuttoned coat. Raised his head to speak but she went on.  
“It’s just gonna be this difficult with me Steve, I’m sorry…” Shit! Well, shit! “I can’t ask you to be who you are without doing the same so…” She let go and stepped away, leaving his hands, and took another step up. Turning, she crossed her arms over her chest. Leaned against the rail and looked at him again.  
Where was she going? How could this be going so wrong?  
“By this point in a relationship.” She started.  
Lecture tone, getting distant? Starting to sound like an echo. What the heck?  
“Maybe before, most men, would’ve started carrying those little foil packets…” eyebrows up, pitch rising.  
Wait –  
“…in their wallet or maybe their” heavy pause, sigh. She closed her eyes, “jacket pocket.”  
Oh damn.  
He was looking at the sidewalk now. So not fair. He watched his stomach drop, felt his breath leave. Not like this. I wanted to explain. Had to try.  
“Cedar” stepping up another step, determined to speak but she was reaching for him, half unzipped the jacket and tucked her cold hands in against his chest.  
“I’m not her. Can’t be. Won’t be.” Tone both pleading and uncompromising.  
“I don’t want you to be. Never. You don’t have to be. I want…” But now she was starting up again. He could smell the bourbon. How much had she been drinking?  
“I’m not someone who goes through pants’ pockets, ok? I’m not. But this -” pointing to her head. “I can’t turn this off!”  
Captured that pointing hand, kissed it. “Can I just try to explain?” Can I? Can you even hear me? Are you still here?  
She was shaking her head. No, no. Too far gone. “She’s an icon Steve. That video of you? You know the one I’m talking about? ‘1944, somewhere behind enemy lines.’” quoting verbatim and adding air quotes. “Map spread out on the hood of the jeep and that compass in your hand?? Her picture in the compass?”  
No. Just no…She was painting it in such stark black and white. The bright horizon receding.  
“I mean, you couldn’t’ve designed a better metaphor if you’d engineered it! Goddammit! And I can’t even be jealous.” Stopped, looking at him. “The clip from those reels? That stuff’s been on PBS Steve, at the Smithsonian exhibit. Crap, it’s on YouTube.” Put her hand over her eyes.  
‘An icon.’ That was fair. She was. Had been. He was gripping the railing, looking at the treads on the steps. Where to start?  
“And it might be different” he looked up at this, but her lips were tight, hurt. “It would be different if you’d been carrying it the whole time…”  
Damn, damn, damn…  
“…like an amulet or memento or something. I could understand that better. I, I think?” almost like she was just arguing with herself now. “But you just started carrying it, what, a week? Week and a half ago? Carrying it in your pocket. What’s that about Steve? I promise you don’t need a compass to find your way around me, so that’s not …” stopped a minute. “I, don’t know why she’s here. It’s like being haunted.”  
That was for sure. All he’d planned to say. Ashes in his mouth.

Early Hours Later Days  
He was surprised to see a light left on, even more surprised to find Natasha in the kitchen sitting in front of a closed laptop sipping something hot.  
“You back?” She asked.  
“You still up?” He returned, echoing the obvious.  
“Yeah, well. Time zones, and I didn’t want to disturb the others.” Indicating the bedrooms upstairs.  
“Ah,” He sat down. “How’s he then?”  
Natasha smiled into her cup. “Good I guess. He’s trying something new. I don’t know what’s gonna come of it.” Shrugged. He could tell it’d been a nice conversation. She was relaxed, keeping fingers warm around the cup.  
“You?” she asked.  
He reached in his pocket and pulled out the compass, put it on the table.  
“Cedar can see that of course.” Staring at his betrayer. “And misinterpret it pretty magnificently.”  
Natasha kept quiet. He sighed.  
“We had a great night. The music was good, the club was fun, different. I enjoyed it. We went to breakfast and were headed back to her place.” Rubbed his face, felt stubble. Rubble. The conversation on the stoop. Wreckage. “It just went sideways.”  
“I guess I can see why she might be upset, but at the same time.” Pause. “It’s just true that Peggy’s a huge part of who you are. Surely she knows that, can understand.” She tilted her head, trying to imagine whether and how she might understand, then added. “I didn’t know you carried that.”  
Hung his head. “See, that’s what makes it worse… I don’t always. Sometimes on missions, but not lately. Well,” shaking his head. “Not true actually, and that’s what she noticed. I only started carrying it around again a few weeks ago.” The memory, the walk with Natasha – getting thoroughly schooled. His trip to Washington. He’d gotten the compass from his drawer and taken Peggy.  
“So wait, why did you start carrying it again?”  
“Just what she was asking.” Sighed. “So you remember our walk?”  
Nat nodded. “Guess I added a few things to my pockets that week.” More nodding. Keep talking.  
“You know, when things got difficult, confusing at S.H.I.E.L.D. I’d go talk to Peggy. Right up to the end. With the dementia…” shaking his head. “More me talking but sometimes she was there. Really there. Since she died... Maybe I’m crazy.” Looking at the compass. “I still talk to her sometimes.” Opened it up and looked at the needle. Pointing North. “I remembered something she said one of the last times I saw her. She was pretty lucid. Said she just regretted that I hadn’t gotten to live my life.”  
Natasha sighed.  
“I know. Pretty harsh. She didn’t mean it that way. I took the compass to D.C. last week. Kind of had my own goodbye, ran the monuments a few times. I remembered that again. Nat, it was like she was telling me to live my life. Now, to be with Cedar. And honestly, looking at this now, with everything that’s happened…S.H.I.E.L.D., the team…” face towards hers in the light. “I’m not even sure I care which way is North,” he snapped the compass shut and spun it on the table between them, “if doesn’t point toward her.”  
Something to Say  
Their walk. Had it been two weeks? Surely not quite. Nat had found him in the kitchen early. “Hey boss, I need a meeting.” Odd. They’d settled on 2:00 that afternoon because he was planning to take Cedar lunch between classes. When he got back Nat was grabbing her coat.  
“Are we meeting?” he’d asked.  
“Yes, we’re talking a walk.” She nodded.  
“OK, why?” he asked.  
“You like to take walks.” Ok, true, but usually to be alone. He remembered wondering, and being pretty sure, he knew what this was about. He’d been wrong.  
They’d hit the street in silence. He let Nat take the lead, assuming that’s what this was about. They just kept walking. Finally piped up.  
“Nat look,” realized he was taking the lead as usual, stopped. Well? Plowed on. “I realize I’ve been distracted lately. I was hoping it wasn’t interfering with things, but if it is, you and Sam work it out with Fury or whoever’s coming up with these missions. Next time, one of you take lead.”  
She looked sideways at him. “What are you talking about?” Kept walking.  
“Isn’t this what you wanted to talk about?” He’d asked.  
She’d smiled, that sympathetic but sly, somewhat exasperated Nat smile that signaled so clearly he was being ‘an adorable dope.’ She’d actually said that once.  
“OK, well, I’m really in for it then, huh? This about me and Cedar?” Set his face, shoulders back, ready to take whatever.  
“Yes.” Nodding, grinning. “We’re concerned about you.”  
“We?”  
“Yeah, everyone. Me, Sam, Clint and Laura, and Wanda.”  
“Oh, great. Wanda too?”  
“Oh yeah, Wanda. It’s a lot Steve, it’s been really fast. So much intensity can be…” choosing her words “intoxicating and fun.”  
He’d huffed out a loud sigh.  
“We all like seeing you happy. It’s just…”

“I’m out of my depth? Right?”  
“Maybe…” smile again. She’d reached inside her jacket. “Here, inside pocket of your jacket.”  
Oh god, what the? He’d taken the soft leather pouch about the size of a wallet, nearly flat, and done what she said. Said nothing.  
“We just want you to be…”  
“Seems presumptuous to me.” He’d interrupted.  
“But it’s not.” She interrupted right back. “See, that’s just the problem. It’s not being presumptuous. It’s being prepared. Don’t smirk at me.” Side eye.  
He looked at his big feet. Left, right. Left, right. Waiting out the pause.  
“What’s presumptuous is thinking that she’s got it taken care of somehow. You just assuming she’s on birth control?  
“I’m assuming we’d have a conversation.”  
She’d snorted, laughing. “Well sometimes the conversation happens when a situation happens and that’s not when you want to be running down to the drugstore. Kinda humiliating.”  
“and this is not humiliating?” Flat tone, but barely concealing the smile. She knew he didn’t mind the coaching too much.  
“Look, really its…gracious…right? Like you’re not assuming anything. You just want to make sure you can take care of whatever.”  
Well, he’d, never thought of it that way.  
Late Night Thoughts  
Nat cleared her throat and got up to put her mug away. He realized she hadn’t said anything else. Did now.  
“What are you going to do?”  
“Said we’d talk tomorrow.” Wondering how that was going to go. Then he remembered – insult to injury. “Oh, then Sharon showed up.”  
“What?” Nat turned from the sink. “Sharon Carter?”  
“Yeah, that was crazy. She and some guys, clearly agent’s - at Wally’s.”  
“That’s odd. You should text her.”  
“Sharon?” His mind still stuck there for some reason.  
“No! Cedar. You should text her now.”  
“Hang on,” leaning forward over the table now, fiddling with the compass. “Sharon called her Dr. Wexler.” Looked at Nat. Continued, eyes questioning. “I didn’t introduce her that way, and Sharon’s not DOD. How’d she know that?”  
“Beats me.” Shrugging, “I really don’t know. Honest. I’d tell you if I did.”  
He picked up his phone.  
“No, no. Don’t lead with that.”  
“Right…” Shaking his head. Then starting to type. Clumsy.

\- Can I bring you breakfast? 2:23  
*God no 2:24  
*Plan to be hungover 2:24  
*well past noon 2:25  
\- What are you doing? 2:25  
*Great think about my neighborhood  
you can always find a angry  
Italian woman to drink with 2:27

*Killed a red 2:27

*Going to yoga at 11:30 2:29  
\- Lunch then? 2:29  
Can I make you lunch? 2:29

 

\- How do you know  
Sharon Carter 2:33

 

\- ?? 2:40  
*Welcome Steve 2:40  
\- Thanks. Nice… 2:40  
*she distracted you or you  
would’ve picked that up sooner  
What’s that about 2:41  
\- You first 2:41

*goodnight Steve 2:43  
\- See you tomorrow? 2:43  
*tomorrow 2:43

**Author's Note:**

> For more about Steve and Cedar and to learn how Cedar sees into pockets - check out "O My America" Celeste666. Watch for more.


End file.
